


lick the icing off

by AliuIce0814



Series: sweet little headache [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Lapdance, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, first explicit fic ever posted please be gentle, steve's seen tony's porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3869998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliuIce0814/pseuds/AliuIce0814
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Bucky's first lucid birthday post-Winter Soldier. All he wants is Steve. Steve's more than happy to comply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lick the icing off

**Author's Note:**

> screams loudly what even am I doing with my life? title comes from that one rihanna song, oh god
> 
> The Winter Soldier hearings mention is a tip of the cap to United States v. Barnes, 617 F. Supp. 2d 143 (D.D.C. 2015). Read it. 
> 
> This, like just about every Stucky fic I've ever written, was originally written for my fiancee. True love writes explicit Stucky fics. Love ya, Barnes, ya big lug. <3

Bucky doesn't want much for his birthday, he says. "Just come in my room," he tells Steve via JARVIS that morning. Steve pauses with his shirt halfway over his head and parses that sentence. Then he tosses the shirt he was about to put on back in the dresser and pulls out the shirt he keeps hidden in the back. Technically, it belongs to Bucky. Steve's had so many of his shirts stolen by Bucky that he figured he had to steal something back.

It's a button-down shirt, the one Bucky wore to all the Winter Soldier hearings in DC. There are bad memories with this shirt, sure, but there are good ones, too, of hopping the barrier between the audience and the defense table to pull Bucky into a kiss once he was cleared of all charges. And there are other memories, too, as Steve buttons the shirt. Memories of a shirt of Bucky's that dangled to Steve's knobbly knees. Memories of cheap beer and spinning in circles. Memories of grinding his hips against Bucky's until Bucky tipped his head back and groaned.

Steve doesn't pull on any pants. If somebody catches him in his boxers the hall between his room and Bucky's, well, fuck it. The only person who'll give Steve hell immediately is Tony, and Steve's--unfortunately--seen his porn. Tony has no room to talk.

Despite reminding himself of this over and over, Steve can still feel his face burning. The heat creeps down his neck to his chest as he walks as quickly as he can to Bucky's room. His stomach keeps dipping downward. By the time he reaches the door, he's fighting his flight instinct with everything he has. But Steve's stubborn. He doesn't back down from fights, and he doesn't back down from what he wants. He wants Bucky. His mouth goes dry with just how much he wants him. His knuckles are trembling slightly when he knocks on the door.

"Yeah, come in," Bucky calls. Steve's still not used to his new voice, the way it's still a little flat. At least it's not completely devoid of the Brooklyn accent anymore. "Steve?" Bucky calls. His voice goes up at the end, just a little tell of his anxiety. Steve takes a deep breath and pushes open the door.

Bucky's sitting at the foot of his bed, wearing one of those form-fitting t-shirts with the sweatpants Tasha got him to work out. His eyes widen when he sees Steve. For a panicked second, Steve's sure he's made a mistake. You goddamn idiot, Rogers, he thinks to himself, you know he isn't how he used to be! He's about ready to apologize when Bucky licks his lip. His eyes travel the length of Steve's body.

Steve knows the motion's deliberate. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, letting his limbs go loose as he does. He leans against the doorframe, trying to copy the old cocky smirk Bucky used to use on dames. He never used to be able to imitate it before, but maybe times have changed. "Hey there, Buck."

"Hey," Bucky says hoarsely. "That's my shirt."

"Yeah, it is."

Bucky blinks. "You look good."

The words are simple, not nearly as suave as the old Bucky, but they still make Steve's nerves tingle. He tilts his head and lets himself smirk a little. "You think so?"

Bucky's forehead wrinkles the way it does when he's reaching back for a memory. "You wore a shirt on my birthday before. Drunk as a skunk. You...." The frown lines disappear. He slowly leans back on the bed. Steve sees the motion for what it is: Bucky deliberately opening more space on his lap. "I remember."

"You remember, huh?" Steve pushes off from the doorframe. His stomach's still churning with embarrassment, but Bucky's looking at him with lust-darkened eyes. Steve's spent a little more time around women since he last tried this. He lets his hips swing like Tasha taught him as he stalks across the room toward Bucky. "What do you remember?"

"You danced around the room."

"Sure." Steve rests his elbows on Bucky's shoulders and leans forward until their foreheads are touching. Like this, he can hear just how fast Bucky's breathing already. "What else?"

"Sat on my lap." Bucky licks his lips again. "Nah, didn't sit. You--"

Seventy years ago, Steve would've pushed Bucky, made him say what he wanted. But so often now Bucky just doesn't have the words. He grabs Steve's hips and pulls him forward until their knees bump. That's good as speaking. Steve slides his arms until his hands are resting on Bucky's shoulders. Then he swings a leg over Bucky's and straddles him.

The size difference throws both of them for a moment. Bucky, of course, almost always thinks of Steve as being smaller, but the truth is Steve still hasn't grown out of thinking of himself as small either. His balance on Bucky's lap is wrong, his legs are too long. He hates knowing it, but he realizes that half the fun for Bucky way back when was how dainty Steve could seem. Probably made the whole thing feel dirtier for him.

Well, Steve'll give him dirty like this, too. He rolls his hips forward, grinding against Bucky. The noise Bucky makes at just that is obscenely loud. Steve almost hushes him before he remembers the room is soundproofed. He can get Bucky to make as much noise as he likes. The thought makes his heart pound that much faster.

"You remember this?" Steve murmurs, rocking his hips against Bucky again. Bucky shakes his head slightly. Steve swallows his disappointment and changes tactics. He raises up on his knees and leans forward until his mouth is resting against Bucky's ear. "How about I tell you?" Bucky nods slightly. When Steve rolls his hips forward, crotch against Bucky's stomach, Bucky whines.

"I was drunk as hell." Steve huffs against Bucky's ear when Bucky laughs. "Sure, yuk it up. It was your fault. You and Gene always plotting to have me make a goddamn fool of myself. And I had no idea what I was doing. But I knew how much you liked me kissing your neck." Steve brushes his lips over Bucky's pulse. Bucky inhales sharply. "Like that, yeah. Drove you crazy."

"So I started sucking there," Steve says, rolling his hips back and ducking his head to suck a spot right over Bucky's pulse. Bucky's head falls back. Steve threads his fingers through his long, long hair. So many things have changed, but this is the same: when Steve tugs Bucky's hair, Bucky keens. The sound sets all of Steve's nerves on end in the best way. "You made so much noise," he whispers against Bucky's skin. "Always one sound away from getting us kicked out."

"Shut up, Rogers, you're the noisiest little shit I ever--fuck." Bucky lurches a little when Steve rises up on his knees again and grinds against him. His hands slide down Steve's back to his ass and squeeze. Steve jerks forward, a whine locked in his throat. He scowls down at Bucky and tugs his hair.

Bucky grins. Steve's heart goes straight to his throat. Jesus God, how he's missed that grin, that lazy, self-assured smirk. "You gotta problem?" Bucky drawls.

Steve kisses Bucky hard to buy himself thinking time. There's a game they used to play sometimes when Bucky was pushy and Steve was pissed about it. The thing is, he's not sure how much control Bucky can give up now after all he's been through. He has to make this good for Bucky. He has to make this perfect.

So when he says, "Grab the bedspread for me?" Steve phrases it as a question. Just a request, not an order. Bucky raises his eyebrows at Steve before he does it, lying back and grabbing two fistfuls of the sheets. Steve nudges him back until he's in the center of the bed, right where he wants him. Then he straddles Bucky again, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. "Hands off," Steve warns. "You don't get to touch me until I say."

Bucky's breath catches in his throat. Steve doesn't miss the way his eyes flutter shut before he groans. Steve's not small anymore. He and Bucky are of a similar weight, but Bucky's so damn strong that when he rocks his hips upward, Steve's whole body moves with him. Steve bites down on his lip to muffle a whine. He's struggling to think of what to say next when Bucky speaks for him.

"Lookit you, Rogers." His voice is rough and low, the way it's always gotten when he's turned on. His pupils are blown so wide that his eyes look black beneath his fluttering eyelashes. Steve runs his hands over Bucky's chest until his fingers are resting over his nipples. Bucky arches his back into his touch. "Like a goddamn work of art," Bucky gasps.

Steve gasps with him. He hasn't heard Bucky say that in--every time Bucky moves his hips, Steve rises off the bed a little, God--in over seventy years. He rubs his thumb over one of Bucky's nipples while he unbuttons the next button of his own shirt. "You're crazy," Steve pants, "or blind, Barnes. I was a mess back then. Now I'm--"

"Goddamn beautiful is what you are, holy shit please." Bucky groans when Steve rubs circles around his nipple. "You get so red for me, baby doll, bet it goes all the way under your shirt--"

Steve has to pause for air when Bucky uses the old nickname. Then he lets go of Bucky's chest and goes to work unbuttoning his own shirt the rest of the way. He doesn't know how women do it, looking sexy when they take off their shirts. He just looks ridiculous. But Bucky's gazing at him with those bedroom eyes. When Steve lets the shirt slip from his shoulders, Bucky's grip on the sheets goes so tight that the gears in his metal arm grind.

Steve feeds off of that moment. Bucky's watching him, Bucky and nobody else, and Bucky's looking at him like he set the stars in the sky. Steve's bright red from the attention but runs his fingers across his own chest anyway. Bucky spits out what sound like Russian curses. Steve puts a finger to his lips, feigning thoughtful. "You like that, Buck?"

Bucky heaves his hips upward. Steve rises up on his knees so no matter how much Bucky moves, their hips don't touch. Bucky grits his teeth. "Fuck you, Rogers."

"Working on it," Steve says as sweetly as he can. Bucky gives him a look that used to mean Steve was about to get his ass whooped. Steve thinks about wrestling around the apartment, about Bucky scowling and saying or nothing, Rogers, and blows Bucky a kiss.

"It's my birthday," Bucky whines, stormy expression suddenly turned into a pout. "You have to give me what I want. C'mon."

"Whaddya want, Barnes?" Steve leans forward until his mouth is hovering over Bucky's.

"Let me touch you," Bucky says, gaze flickering between Steve's eyes. "Please. C'mon. Let me touch you."

It takes every ounce of Steve's willpower not to drop his weight on Bucky and rut against him right then. He settles for letting his breath come out in a whine. "What're you gonna do if you touch me?"

Steve hasn't said Bucky can move his hands, but Bucky moves his flesh hand anyway. Steve doesn't realize what he's doing until his fingers are pressing insistently at Steve's lips. Steve opens his mouth and draws Bucky's fingers in, rolling his tongue around them. There's salt there, and oil, and maybe a little soap; flavors Steve remembers, flavors that are new. What isn't new is the low sound that comes from Bucky's chest when Steve slowly licks between his fingers.

"You want that?" Steve murmurs when he pulls off of Bucky's fingers. He's not trying to be coy now; he still can't get himself to say things like this very loud. "You want my mouth on you?" Bucky nods vigorously. Steve takes a shaking breath. "You want me to suck your dick?"

Bucky's groan is so loud that Steve practically vibrates with it. He can't help himself now. He drops on top of Bucky. As soon as his hips touch Bucky's, he's rutting, mouth finding the spot on Bucky's collarbone that always makes him curse. Bucky's fingers trip up Steve's spine. As soon as he starts drawing circles there, Steve's body lights up. He muffles the noise that's almost a yell against Bucky's neck.

"Shit," Bucky whispers reverently. "There you are. That's my baby doll." Steve's not sure what he's thinking, what year Bucky's in or what his mindset is, but as long as Bucky keeps scratching his blunt nails across his back like that, Steve isn't too worried.

He slides down Bucky and pulls up the hem of his shirt. "God, Buck," he says before he starts sucking hickeys on Bucky's stomach. Every time Bucky says his name, Steve moans.

"You gonna let me fuck your mouth?" Bucky gasps. "Prettiest mouth in the world. Oh _fuck_." Steve sucks the skin that's drawn tight across Bucky's hipbones. When he scrapes his teeth along his hip, Bucky shouts. His hips jerk upward.

Steve throws an arm over Bucky's stomach to hold him down. Bucky keeps trying to rock his hips for a minute before he gives up. Steve makes sure to look up at him as he sucks a hickey right above the line of his pants. Bucky's eyelashes flutter. There's a dark kind of mischief in his gaze when he makes eye contact with Steve. That's the only bit of warning Steve gets before Bucky's pushing his leg against his crotch. The moan Steve makes at the sudden pressure is loud and embarrassing. Above his head, Bucky cackles.

"Shut up," Steve rasps. Bucky snorts. "I said shut up, jerk." Steve's trying his best to sound authoritative and pissed, but it's coming out all fond. He can't help it. He's so damn happy to hear Bucky laugh. Still, Bucky snickering away won't get him any closer to coming. He pulls Bucky's shirt up more and runs his tongue in a slow circle around his nipple.

Bucky arches his back so suddenly that Steve's nearly thrown off. "Sweet Christ," Bucky says, voice curling into a rasping Brooklyn accent. Steve wraps his lips around his nipple and sucks. When Bucky moans, Steve can feel the vibrations against his mouth. He rocks his hips against the solid weight of Bucky's thigh, whimpering against his skin at the pressure. He knows every inch of his skin is tinged pink.

"Steve," Bucky groans, fingers finding their way to Steve's hair. It's shorter than it was when they lived together, it's going to be hard to tug, but apparently all Bucky wants to do is cradle Steve's head like he's the most precious thing in the world. His voice is so gentle between his moans and curses that Steve's eyelashes get damp. "Steve, fuck, mouth like a dream, lookit you, lookit you lookin up at me, honey, baby doll, Steve, Stevie--"

Bucky's remembering, he's remembering, he's using all the old nicknames and Steve can't stand it. Bucky's killing him like this, saying Stevie so soft and gentle while Steve leaves marks all over his chest. All of a sudden, it's not enough for Steve. He wants to be a part of Bucky so close that he can never lose him again. He lets go of Bucky's nipple, leaving one last kiss on his chest. Bucky whines, a high, disappointed sound, but then Steve's kissing him, giving as good as he's got.

Bucky's mouth is so hot against Steve's. He fucks Steve's mouth with his tongue until Steve's breathless, and even then he doesn't stop kissing him. Steve grinds his hips against Bucky's, precum staining the front of his boxers. Whenever Bucky bites his bottom lip, Steve chokes on sounds he wants to muffle. "C'mon, Stevie," Bucky gasps. Steve drops his forehead against Bucky's shoulder, dizzy with need. "C'mon, let me hear those sounds you made, let me hear those pretty sounds just for me. C'mon, Stevie," Bucky says, half a whine, and scrapes his blunt fingernails the length of Steve's spine.

Steve _screams_. He'd forgotten how his voice could crack. He'd forgotten how Bucky could drag sounds out of him that no one could mistake for anything but a man being fucked within an inch of his life. Steve digs his teeth into Bucky's shoulder to try to hide the sound, but then Bucky runs his nails up his spine again, and Steve's thrashing and yelling. "Holy _god_ you're so good," Bucky says, all wondering. Steve grinds against him harder, faster, fingers scrabbling against his arms. "C'mon, you're so close, I know you are, come for me and then you can suck my dick. C'mon, baby doll, c'mon...." Bucky falls into Russian, into German, into other languages Steve doesn't know, but he knows that tone. Fucking hell, he knows that sultry tone. "Come on, baby doll," Bucky croons right in Steve's ear. His hips crash up to meet Steve's, and his nails claw their way down Steve's back, and every nerve in Steve's body lights up. He comes yelling Bucky's name against his shoulder.

"Shit," Steve mumbles. He presses two kisses to Bucky's shoulder--he's surprised he didn't draw blood, Bucky's t-shirt must have blunted the pressure of Steve's teeth. "Shit, Buck, I--"

"Holy God, Rogers. Come _here_."

Bucky rolls Steve onto his side. The next thing Steve knows, Bucky's kissing him, still insistent but softly now. "You're so good," he says. His voice trembles. His eyes flicker back and forth between Steve's eyes and his mouth. "You're so fucking _good_ , Stevie. You know that?" Steve shrugs, face burning. His boxers are sticky with cum. Bucky doesn't seem to mind, though. He presses a fierce kiss to Steve's red-hot cheek. "Goddamn work of art."

"Came a little fast," Steve says dryly.

"Then I'll just jack you off again when you get wound up later," Bucky drawls. Steve's heart leaps to his throat. He can hear his pulse in his ears. "You always get riled up when you're sucking on me. Don't you?"

Way back when, the 'don't you?' would have been rhetorical. Now, there's a little hesitance in Bucky's voice, like he can't quite tell if he made that part up. Steve smiles. "Sure thing. Love having my mouth on you."

"You do, huh?" Bucky smirks. Steve answers him by sucking a hickey at the hinge of his jaw. Every time Steve flicks his tongue against Bucky's skin, Bucky inhales sharply. By the time Steve pulls back to study the purple-and-red mark he's left there, Bucky's blinking lazily at him, mouth bitten red. "Fuck," he spits.

"Yup," Steve agrees. "But only if you take that shirt off. It's plenty tight, but it's not the same as touching you."

Bucky sits up so quickly that Steve rolls clumsily to the side. It takes Bucky a second to struggle out of the shirt. It really is a tight fit, made more difficult by the grooves on his metal arm. By the time he pulls off the shirt, his hair's sticking up, all staticky, and he looks about as happy as a wet cat. Steve can't help it. He bursts out laughing.

"Shut the fuck up," Bucky snaps, throwing the shirt clear across the room.

"Make me," Steve says instantly. Bucky's eyes narrow. Steve has a heart-pounding second of maybe I've made a mistake before Bucky pins him to the bed. His hands encircle Steve's wrists, pushing him down into the mattress.

"You wanna go, punk?"

Steve swallows hard. He just got it off, but Bucky looming like that is making warmth stir up in his belly again. "Wanna go down on you."

Bucky stares at him with a blank face for a good second before he doubles over laughing. Steve takes the opportunity to roll him onto his back. Bucky's still laughing when Steve starts rubbing his thumbs over his nipples. The snickers only cut off when Steve wraps his lips around one nipple and sucks.

Bucky arches his back, swearing. He's hard already, dick tenting the front of his sweatpants. Steve knows from before when he was grinding against him that he's not wearing anything underneath them. He's ready, so ready, Steve knows he's ready to get sucked off, which is exactly why Steve waits. He takes his time, sucking hard at Bucky's nipples while the sounds Bucky makes climb higher and higher.

After a few minutes, Bucky grabs Steve's hair with his flesh hand and tugs. "Steve."

"Hmm?" Steve looks up at Bucky through his lashes without pulling off. Bucky studies him for a second before he closes his eyes and groans. His chest shifts beneath Steve's mouth.

"Please."

Steve lets Bucky's nipple slide out of his mouth. He rests his chin on Bucky's chest and quirks his eyebrows. "Please what?"

"Jesus, Rogers, you know what." Bucky pulls Steve's hair insistently.

"Dunno. I like seeing you like this." Steve licks his lips and stares at all the bruises that litter Bucky's jaw, neck, collarbone, and chest. "Aw, Buck, the hickeys on your stomach already faded."

"Then give me new ones, I don't care, just--please." Bucky's chest heaves.

Steve considers it, but the second his lips touch Bucky's stomach, Bucky moans. It's a long, drawn-out sound, Bucky's fingers clenching in his hair. Steve's heart pounds in his ears. He wants more of those sounds, even louder--Bucky used to be the screamer of the two of them, and if that's changed, Steve needs to know. He slides down the bed a little more and presses a kiss to Bucky's cock through his sweatpants.

Bucky yells. He tries to clamp down on the sound, but Steve hears it, and it's fucking music to his ears. He wants to hear Bucky's voice always, forever, so he kisses Bucky through his sweatpants again and again. Pretty soon, Bucky's practically sobbing, these alternating shouts and whimpers of "please, oh fucking please." That's how Steve remembers Bucky.

By the time Steve slides Bucky's sweatpants off, Bucky's writhing. Steve rests his hands on Bucky's trembling thighs. He looks up at him, at the way his dark lashes flutter against his flushed cheeks, and licks his lips. "Jesus, Buck," he says. Then he swallows him down.

Steve's always wanted to suck Bucky's entire dick like this. When he was small, it just wasn't practical; there wasn't anything attractive about Steve having an asthma attack on Bucky's dick. But there's no chance of that happening now. Steve takes all of Bucky, swirling his tongue. The noise Bucky makes is so loud that Steve's almost scared someone will hear him through the soundproofing. He wonders if Bucky knows he's yelling in Russian. Then he doesn't care because English mixes in with it:

"Fuck baby doll you feel so good, your mouth's oh Jesus God Steve how are you even--please, please, ah, Stevie, fuck, fuck!"

Bucky pulls at Steve's hair. It's hard to look up at him from this angle, but Steve tries his best. Bucky's trembling. Somehow, his hips aren't moving. Steve stares at his furrowed brow for a good minute before it clicks: Bucky's trying to be polite.

Well, fuck that. Steve grabs Bucky's hips and hauls them towards him. Bucky takes the hint instantly. Steve takes the deepest breath he can through his nose and relaxes. Like this, Bucky's really doing most of the work, which leaves Steve's concentration free for other things.

Other things like reaching up and squeezing Bucky's nipples. Bucky yells, hips lurching forward. Steve moans around him. Bucky lets out a stream of foreign curses. When Steve moans again, Bucky scratches his nails against his scalp. "Steve, Steve, Stivya, _fuck_ , Stivya, Stevie, please, please--"

Steve wishes he had lube. He misses getting his fingers in Bucky, misses fucking him like that, but Bucky's been wary of that ever since he came back. Still, Steve wants to get his fingers in Bucky while he sucks him down, get him to come so hard he whites out. He's done it before.

Instead, he flicks his fingers over Bucky's nipples and moans again. He says everything he's thinking with his eyes, looks up at Bucky's open mouth with all the adoration in the world. He can never say he worships Bucky, even when he's queer he can't be sacrilegious, but he can adore Bucky. Adore him like the saint he is. Adore him for all the good in him he can't see, adore him for the way he cradles Steve's head in his hand, adore him for the way he chants "Stivya" like he's praying. 

Steve's mouth is full, so he says 'come on' with his hands, tracing his fingers down Bucky's stomach and squeezing his hips tight. Bucky's head drops back. His spine arches, drawing tight. Then--Steve rubs circles on his hips--then Bucky jerks upward, almost sitting upright as he comes. The room echoes with curses and Steve's name.

The second Bucky's finished, he hauls Steve up to kiss him. His tongue licks around Steve's mouth--tasting himself, Steve realizes, and stifles a moan against Bucky's lips. Bucky pulls back and stares at Steve with wonder in his eyes. Wonder and a little worry. "Steve?" he says uncertainly.

"Good?" Steve asks, suddenly concerned.

Bucky nods hard. "Holy fuck," he says. Then he grabs Steve's hand and squeezes it tight. It's their code for when he's lost his words. Steve pulls Bucky into his arms and holds him tight. His chest clenches at the thought that Bucky might be slipping down into the pit in his mind again. After all that goodness, he might still end his birthday miserable. Steve wants to go back in time just so he can kill Zola again and again. The thought makes his stomach churn, but it's true.

Bucky mouths along Steve's jaw. When Steve looks at him, Bucky's eyes are gentle and clear. All of the tension leaves Steve at once. "So good," Bucky says. He traces Steve's cheek and nose with callused fingers. Steve can't help the way he leans into the touch.

"This what you expected?" Steve asks. He's proud of himself for the way his voice doesn't tremble. "For your birthday?"

Bucky shakes his head slightly. "You're more than I ever expected."

There's so much raw adoration in his voice that Steve's cheeks prickle uncomfortably. He shoves Bucky's chest lightly. "All right, you big sap."

"Me? A big sap?"

Bucky's innocent act doesn't trick Steve. He shoves Bucky again, snorting. "Calling me 'Stevie.'"

Bucky smirks. "Didn't sound like you minded it, baby doll."

"Shut up." Steve shoves Bucky again, this time hard enough that Bucky rolls a little. Bucky shoves him back. They wrestle like that for a minute, huffing out laughter, for once evenly matched. The tussle only ends when Bucky pulls Steve into a headlock. Steve glares up at him. "Jerk."

"Punk." Bucky kisses the top of Steve's head and lets go.

Steve lets his head rest on Bucky's chest. They smell like sweat and sex and Bucky's cologne. They smell like home. "Happy birthday, Buck," he says.

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve and holds on tight.


End file.
